


where the heart is

by professortennant



Category: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Pining, Single Parent/Nanny, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-21 17:18:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12462324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant
Summary: Jean Beazley is a single parent who hires Lucien Blake to take care of her two boys while she works during the day. Neither one of them expects to fall in love.





	1. Chapter 1

"Alright boys, marching orders: clean your bedrooms and meet me back here in the kitchen. Dismissed!" He barked the orders at the two boys with a grin and watched them fondly as they scampered off, eager to complete their chores and return to him. They knew what kitchen time meant: baking.

Lucien shook his head, listening to Jack and Christopher, Jr. bicker the way all young boys do. For a moment, his heart clenched in his chest–his thoughts drifting to his own daughter, long lost to him now. With a deep breath, he pushed those thoughts back down into a box in the furthest corners of his mind.

Being around the Beazley boys had soothed a hurt in his soul. He had come to the Beazley home a few months ago, shortly after his return to Ballarat. The military had changed him; war had changed him. He could not look at medicine the same way, couldn't trust his shaky hands to treat and heal when they had done so much damage, had taken life.

Puling out the bowls and whisks and necessary bits and bobs, he decided they would make lemon bars in preparation for Jean's arrival home. The thought of her face pinching at the first hit of sour on her tongue and then melting away into delectable pleasure had Lucien grinning, eager to please.

He tried not to think too hard on the increased patter of his heart at the thought of his employer. Jean was–well, Jean was everything to him. Despite her hesitance at hiring a male caretaker for the boys, she had taken a chance on him. Perhaps she had seen his desperation to care for someone for once; to tend to a home and be a part of family.

In any case, she had looked at him with sparkling eyes and the sunlight was streaming in behind her, illuminating her in a halo, and had welcomed him into her home. And he loved her for it.

He'd never dare tell her–no. Jean deserved someone whole and undamaged; not someone like him.

The sound of racing feet alerted him to the return of Jack and Christopher and before he knew it, the boys were wrapping themselves around him, cheeks flushed with excitement. "All done, Lucien!"

He put on a stern look but the smile twitching at his lips gave him away. "If I go and check your rooms, I won't find a toy out of place? Or a shirt unfolded?"

The boys dissolved into giggles and mock-saluted him, "Sir, no, sir!"

He clapped his hands and rubbed them together, "Right then! Wash your hands and get your aprons on, boys. If we hurry, we can have these cooled in time for your mum when she gets home."

Jean walked into her home, shoulders stiff and hands sore. She had taken up cleaning homes for half of Ballarat–a much more profitable job to support her and her boys than the oft-struggling farm. It had been a long day today and she was simply grateful to be home. Toeing off her shoes and shrugging her coat off, she called out, "Boys? Lucien? I'm home!"

But there was no answer, only the sound of laughter and clanging bowls and childlike screeches. Curiously, she walked through the house, following the sounds until she reached the kitchen.

The sight that greeted her made her melt.

Lucien and her boys were running around the kitchen, absolutely covered head-to-toe in flour, screaming with delight as they threw handfuls of flour at each other. Jack and Christopher's behinds were covered in Lucien-shaped flour handprints and Lucien's own hair and face was streaked with flour and melted butter.

The kitchen was a disaster and, to her stomach's delight, there was a plate of lemon bars stacked next to the sink. She leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her hands over her chest, simply enjoying the scene before her.

But her presence didn't go unnoticed for long. Lucien skidded to a halt and the boys crashed into him, still trying to smear batter and butter over the other.

"Jean! You're home early! We were just, uh–"

"Just making a mess in my kitchen."

Lucien and the boys looked at one another, shamefaced, already making apologies and promising to clean it up right away. She grinned, stepping further into the kitchen and inspecting the damage. She picked up a handful of flour and turned to face them, arm raised and ready, "Run."

With a shout her boys and Lucien took off again, dodging her own flour attacks. Lucien was giving them orders, "Don't break rank, boys! We outnumber her!"

The laughter filled the kitchen and Jean could forget for a moment that Lucien was just her employee; paid to take care of her family and be here. For a moment, she could pretend he was hers–well and truly–and he was a father to the boys and this was all real.

Maybe one day she'd tell him how much she loved him. But, she thought as she was chased out of the kitchen, Lucien and Jack and Christopher ganging up on her, today was not that day.


	2. Chapter 2

Lucien entered the Beazley home, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. Already, his nerves felt calmer and he felt more at peace. He tried not to worry that he was becoming too dependent on the way he felt when he was in this house; tried not to think about the fact that this was the only place that felt safe and warm; that this was the only place that felt like home.

Before he could even hang up his hat and coat, he was tackled around the legs by two exuberant boys, "Lucien's here!" They beamed up at him, small hands clutched at this pant leg. He returned their smile and ruffled their hair, "Evening, boys!"

"What are we doing tonight, Lucien?" Jack asked, holding onto his leg as Lucien stomped through the house, loving the sound of the boys giggles as he went for a ride on his leg. Christopher Jr. followed closely behind, eager to hear what tonight's adventure would be.

"Well, I thought we could go hunting for some fee." He dropped his voice into a low whisper, dragging out the vowels and inspiring a sense of spookiness.

Both boys looked at him in wonder, "What are fee?" They tripped over the odd-sounding pronunciation, eager to learn.

Lucien explained, "They're little fairies that live amongst the plants and green things, brewing up all sorts of trouble." He smiled softly to himself before adding, "My mother and I used to hunt for them in the garden in our home. I thought you boys might like to do the same?"

Both boys nodded vigorously, looking up at him in awe. "Excellent!" Lucien rubbed his hands together. "Right then, Christopher, go get a saucer and fill it with some milk so we can leave it out for them. Jack, you go get a torch. Then both of you put on your best clothes and meet me in the back garden."

Christopher scrunched his nose up, confused. "Our best clothes? Why?"

Lucien ducked low, remembering the words his mother had once told him, "You always meet a fee when you're at your best, Christopher. First impressions, eh?"

Both boys nodded at him solemnly before scampering off, leaving Lucien shaking his head fondly in the living room. He really should go check in with Jean.

It was unusual for her to ask him to watch the boys in the evening and he was desperate–and a little afraid–to know why she needed his services this evening. Winding through the house and headed for her bedroom, he realized with some dismay that it would be silly for him to expect Jean to remain single forever.

She was incredibly beautiful, yes, but she was just bright. She shone in every room she walked into, making everyone's life better and brighter just by existing.

And he was hopelessly in love with her. And hopelessly beneath her.

For now, he was content with being her friend and confidante, the man she entrusted her boys to, the man on the fringe of her family.

Arriving at her bedroom door he hesitated only briefly before knocking and calling out softly, "Jean? It's Lucien."

He heard some mumbling and movement behind the door before it was opened and he felt his heart stop and restart in his chest. In the doorway, stood an angel.

Jean was dressed in an elegant, burgundy dress that wrapped around her figure most alluringly. Her makeup was applied heavier than normal and thick, dark lines outlined her eyes, making the steel blue pop. Her hair was curled perfectly, falling in soft waves around her face.

"Wow," he said softly, eyes taking her in.

"Hello, Lucien." Jean blushed at his soft exhalation and turned, sweeping the hair from her neck. "Do you mind just helping me with the zipper?"

Lucien licked his lips and lifted a trembling hand up to her back, tugging at the zip. His knuckles brushed against her skin as he pulled the zip up and wondered if he imagined her shiver at his touch or not.

He cleared his throat, buttoning the clasp at the top of her dress. "What's the occasion?" His fingers lingered at the top of the clasp and he allowed himself to touch, just this once, and his fingertips ghosted over the soft skin of her neck.

"There, all done."

Jean turned to face him, beaming and a slight flush to her cheeks. She smoothed her hands down over her dress and sighed. "Truthfully, I'd rather be here with you and the boys, but Patrick Tyneman invited me to this silly debutante function and well," she shrugged, helplessly. "It's quite difficult to say no to a Tyneman."

Lucien scowled, hand coming to rest on her shoulder reassuringly. "Did he force you or threaten you, Jean? Because I can–"

She shook her head, softly, and covered his hand with hers. "No, no, nothing like that, Lucien. But thank you. Patrick is just," she sighed. "Patrick is a client and maybe a friend and truth be told, I couldn't bring myself to say no. Plus, when else would I have a chance to wear this?"

With a laugh she twirled on the spot, finishing in a self-deprecating 'ta-da' gesture. Lucien wasn't laughing. His hand brushed down her arm, voice low and serious. "Anyone would be lucky to take you out and see you in this, Jean."

Jean blushed and bit her lip, peering up at him from behind thick eyelashes. He held her gaze and everything in his heart was bubbling up on the tip of his tongue–how much he adored her, how much she meant to him, how much he loved those boys as much as if they were his own, how much he loved them all.

Her eyes were dark and her mouth parted and did she feel this, too? Were those same words bubbling upon her tongue? He opened his mouth, "Jean, I–"

And then two boys were throwing themselves around his waist, tugging on his suit jacket and the moment was over.

"Lucien! We've been in the back garden for ages! C'mon!"

He cleared his throat, shaking his head a little. "Too right, boys." He turned to them and bowed low, "My sincerest apologies." They dissolved into giggles, Jack piping up, "Lucien, you're so weird."

"Alright boys, let's go find some fee!" Two pairs of little hands tugged at his suit jacket and Lucien hurried to reassure Jean that everything would be fine and to enjoy herself.

"Oh, and Jean?" He called out over his shoulder, unable to resist. "You really do look beautiful."

And with that, Jean watched as he and her boys disappeared down the stairs, chanting about mystical beings that live amongst the plants and take care of the families of the gardens they live in.

Jean sighed, picking up her handbag and walking towards the front door and an evening out with Patrick Tyneman. She couldn't help but feel that she was walking away from an evening much better spent with the boys and Lucien, hunting for creatures in the back garden, their faces illuminated by the moonlight and the torchlight.

Maybe one day…


	3. Chapter 3

“But Lucien, why can’t we let off fireworks now?” Both Jack and Christopher were looking longingly at the box of fireworks Jean had purchased for them earlier in the week. 

He couldn’t help but laugh at the expressions on their faces, “Boys, even if you did light them now, you wouldn’t be able to see them! It’s not dark yet. And don’t you want to wait until the rest of the street is celebrating?”

New Year’s Eve had crept up on him. He’d been part of the Beazley home now for almost seven months and yet it felt like a lifetime and no time at all. If he were a braver man, he’d perhaps ask Jean to kick off the new year with him as more than his employer. But each time he tried, the words got stuck in his throat and his heart felt like it would pound straight out of his chest. 

Turning back to the laundry in front of him, he turned his attention to the boys. “Your mother will be home soon and you can all sit outside tonight and blast off fireworks until one of you burns yourself.” 

Jack and Christopher both looked at each other, pointing at the other, “You’re going to burn yourself first.” 

He folded another shirt and reached for the already-folded towels in the basket, handing a stack to each of the boys. “Now, go put these in the cupboard and go entertain yourselves before I put you both on laundry duty.”

Both boys scampered away, already goading the other into racing down the hallway. Lucien laughed at their antics, wishing he’d be able to spend the evening with them, watching their faces light up in awe at each blast of color in the sky. He wished he’d be around for midnight when Jean would turn to him and he could risk a kiss under the guise of tradition. 

But he’d discovered many years ago that some wounds ran too deep and the sound of firecrackers were too similar to the sounds of bullets and bombshells. It would be better for everyone if he was alone tonight. 

He resumed his quiet task of folding clothing and bedding and towels. There was a quiet domesticity to this that he cherished. No matter the fact that this was what Jean paid him to do, he felt as if he was taking care of her and her family in these gestures. He liked knowing that when Jean came home from a long day, her home was clean and organized and cared for. 

He lost himself in the steady rhythm of laundry: pull, shake, fold, tuck away. Repeat. 

And then there was a quick succession of pops and cracks.

In a distant, rationale part of his mind he identified the sounds as firecrackers: just pale imitations of something far worse, loud and noisy and flashes of light but safe.

But Lucien’s rationale mind was long gone, cowering beneath powerful, suffocating fear and memories. Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. 

He needed to get cover; to get the boys to safety; to remember his training and to get down low and cover his head and ride it out until the firing stopped. 

The pounding of his heart spiked his anxiety and he was seeing black spots in his vision, but he needed to find safety. The laundry was dropped on the floor and he was racing throughout the halls, frantically calling for the boys but they weren’t responding. 

A million thoughts ran through his head–the enemy had them, he’d failed them, they were hurt, oh god…

The breath left his body and he couldn’t remember how to fucking breathe, not when terror gripped his lungs and he couldn’t think straight and where were the boys. His chin trembled and he tried to bite back tears: there was no place for tears now, but the panic was rising, rising, rising.

His knees gave out and he slid down the hallway wall, buring his face in his hands, moaning, “No, please. No.”

And then small, trembling hands were shaking him, cupping his face and he lashed out, pushing them aside, ignoring the soft oof of the person he pushed aside. All he could think was that the enemy was here. They were going to take him back to the camp, they were going to lock him away and take him from his home. He needed to run. He needed to hide. 

“Lucien! Lucien, it’s us! It’s Jack and Christopher! Lucien!”

He opened his eyes, trembling. Christopher was curled up on the floor, holding his shoulder, looking up at him with teary eyes. Jack was staring back at him, eyes terrified and pleading. 

It all came rushing back to him and suddenly he was back in the present. Swallowing harshly, he turned to Jack. “Jack, I need you to go phone your mum, alright? She needs to come back home.”

Jack nodded, still scared, and ran for the kitchen phone. Lucien turned his attention back to Christopher, still curled up on the floor. He reached out to the boy, intending to help him up and look at his shoulder, but the boy flinched and scrambled backwards.

All warmth flooded out of his body, leaving behind an icy cold. Christopher was scared. Of him. He was a monster. 

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Lucien moved towards the boy again, hands held in supplication. “Christopher, I’m so, so sorry. I–” But how could he explain to an 11-year old how broken he was? How scared he was?

“I need to look at that shoulder. Can you move it?”

He watched as Christopher prodded at his own shoulder, moving it around stiffly, still wary of Lucien standing before him. He nodded at Lucien. “It’s okay, I think.”

Lucien sat back down, rubbing at his forehead. “I need you to go into the kitchen, get some ice for your shoulder and wait with Jack in the living room until your mother gets home. I think,” he took in a deep, shuddering breath. “I think it’s best if I stay here.”

With a pang in his heart, Lucien watched as Christopher headed for the kitchen, still throwing glances over his shoulder at the man behind him. 

Lucien sat in the hallway, head buried in his hands, listening to the quiet murmurs of the boys from the living room, waiting the judgment from Jean. He would resign immediately, of course. Now knowing he couldn’t be trusted around her children, how could she keep him on?

He let out a dry sob. He’d been so close to having everything he wanted: family, love, warmth. But he was so broken. This was the proof. 

Moments later, he heard Jean arrive, heard the boys run to her and heard the murmurs and the cries. He sat, frozen, terrified. And then she was rounding the corner and walking towards him like he was a wild animal, steps slow and gestures measured. 

“Lucien?” Her voice was soft, questioning. 

He waved her off, “I’m okay, now. I–” He looked up at her, eyes wet. “I hurt Christopher, Jean. I am so sorry. I don’t know what happened. It was like I was back in the war and I, I know it’s no excuse.” He wiped at his face and sighed. “I’ll leave now. I wanted to make sure the boys were looked after before I left. I just–I’m so sorry.”

Lucien moved to stand but Jean was there, a hand on his shoulder and pushing him back down. “Sit.”

He did as she asked and stared up at her, wondering what she wanted for him. He apologized. He resigned. Did she want to press charges as well? He was uncertain. 

To his amazement, Jean sat down next to him–pressed together shoulder to thigh. She took his hand in hers, turning his hand over and stroking over his palm and wrist. 

“Jean,” he rasped out, shuddering at the contact. He didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve her touch or her kindness.

She hushed him and continued stroking his hand as she gathered her thoughts. Licking her lips, she looked at him from the corner of her eye. “Christopher and Jack snuck out into the yard and set off the rapid-fire firecrackers. They’re designed to sound like gunfire, Lucien. I know you would never, ever hurt my son on purpose. You’re a good man.”

He let out a noise of protest, but she tightened her hold on his hand in warning. “You are and I won’t hear a word against it. I told the boys to wait until you were gone to play with those. I,” she bit her lip. “I thought it may be difficult for you.”

He let out a hollow laugh. “And you were right. I can’t be trusted, Jean.” He looked down at their joined hands. “With me, it will always be a bit messier. I’m not normal.”

Jean sighed and rested her head against his shoulder. “I don’t trust anyone more than I trust you–with everything–Lucien. You went through something awful, truly awful, and came out of it alive.” 

Lucien closed his eyes against her words. They touched something fragile inside of him, something he wasn’t ready to face or accept yet. Jean adjusted her head on his shoulder, pressing herself against him more, grounding him to this moment, their hands entwined. 

“If you ever want to talk about it, I will be here to listen. Always.”

Something inside of Lucien shuddered and broke at her offer and he turned into her, awkwardly wrapping himself around her, burying his face in her neck, tears soaking the collar of her blouse. He gasped out, “I’m sorry, Jean. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry.”

She simply held him and stroked her hands over his back and neck and the curls of his hair, murmuring reassurances and soft, meaningless words into his ear. 

He pulled away, wiping at his face, ashamed at his actions of the day. Everything felt raw and exposed and he just wanted to hide. But Jean hooked her fingers under his chin and forced his eyes to meet hers, “You’re going to be okay, Lucien.”

The moment hung between them and he realized how closely their faces were. He could count some of the freckles that dotted over the bridge of her nose and could feel the gentle puffs of her breath warming his lips. Their legs and bodies were entwined, awkwardly pressed together against the hallway wall. 

Standing and offering his hand to Jean, he helped her to his feet and they both made their way to the living room where two young boys waited for them. Turning to Jean for permission, who rolled her eyes but nodded, Lucien approached them both, keeping his movements controlled.

The last thing he wanted to do was scare them further. 

He knelt on one knee in front of them and cleared his throat. “Jack, Christopher. I am so sorry if I scared you today. And Christopher,” he turned pleading eyes onto the boy. “I am so sorry I pushed you away and hurt your shoulder. I never, ever want to hurt you–either of you.”

He continued, the words sticking in his throat but determined to get them out. “I’m sick, boys.”

Jack piped up, “Like you have the flu?”

Lucien laughed at him, shaking his head. “No, Jack, not like the flu. It’s like,” he searched for the words, trying to explain. Thankfully, Jean stepped in. She crossed the room, kneeling beside him and resting her hand comfortingly on his shoulder. 

“It’s like having a really, really bad nightmare but you’re awake. You forget where you are and who is real and who isn’t and who’s a monster and who’s a friend and it can make you feel confused and scared. Does that make sense?”

Both boys nodded at her, looking at Lucien with bright eyes. Lucien had never felt more grateful for Jean Beazley in his life. He bumped her shoulder with his and then turned serious eyes to Jack and Christopher. 

“Boys, I know that I’m sick, but I still hurt you, Christopher, and scared you both. I understand if you don’t want me to look after you anymore. Your mother can find someone else for you and you won’t need to see me again. It’s whatever you want; no one will be mad at you, whatever you decide.”

Jack’s bottom lip trembled and he threw himself into Lucien’s arms. “Don’t go, Lucien! We can take care of you! I’d miss you if you went away.” Lucien wrapped his arms around the shaking boy, rubbing his back. 

“Christopher?”

The boy had been quiet throughout the entire exchange and Lucien’s eyes flickered to the ice pack sitting on the boy’s shoulder. He watched as Christopher took the pack off and got off the sofa, coming to stand in front of him, wringing his hands nervously.

“It’s my fault, Lucien. I set off the fireworks.” He looked up at Lucien, scared. “I made you sick.”

Lucien’s heart shattered in his chest and he opened his arms to Christopher, ushering him into his embrace. “No! Absolutely not, Christopher. This is not your fault. Don’t ever, ever think that. Not ever.”

Christopher buried his face into Lucien’s neck, trembling. Lucien held both of his boys in his arms, shaking and overwhelmed, clutching them close, that ache to protect them both creeping in. 

He felt Jean wrap her arms around them all, lending her strength to them. Christopher pulled away, looking seriously at Lucien. “Don’t go away, Lucien. Please.”

Lucien looked at Jean, helplessly, who just smiled at him. “It’s unanimous. You’re staying.” She reached out to stroke his cheek, brushing a stray tear clinging to his beard. “It’s like Jack said, we’ll take care of you.”

Overwhelmed, Lucien tightened his hold on the Beazley family, memorizing everything about this moment: the way Jean’s fingers felt against his cheek, the smell of grass in the boys’ hair, the soft heat of their bodies pressed against his own. 

As he held them–his family–he felt his heart slowly start to heal. He wasn’t a monster. He was a man. And he was going to be okay.


End file.
